


a rarely painted masterpiece

by apostolosian (mercutioes)



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Rimming, Threesome - M/M/M, obligatory dream bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 10:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15071411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercutioes/pseuds/apostolosian
Summary: “My lord,” he starts, sitting up and tugging at the sheets to give himself at least a bit of modesty, “why have you brought me here?”Samot startles, violet eyes wide with alarm.  He laughs then, setting down his pen and resting his cheek on his hand as he regards the mortal.“I didn’t bring you here,” he says.  “I believe you brought yourself here.”





	a rarely painted masterpiece

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imperialhare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperialhare/gifts).



> title from "say you'll go" by janelle monae

Hadrian’s not even phased this time when he blinks his eyes open and finds himself naked in Samot’s bed.  He knows it’s a dream — he remembers the uneven forest floor that’s surely going to give his back hell tomorrow and besides, it’s not the first time Samot’s visited him in his sleep.  The god himself is sitting at a desk across the room, absorbed in scribbling in a large tome and seemingly unaware of Hadrian’s presence.

“My lord,” he starts, sitting up and tugging at the sheets to give himself at least a  _ bit _ of modesty, “why have you brought me here?”

Samot startles, violet eyes wide with alarm.  He laughs then, setting down his pen and resting his cheek on his hand as he regards the mortal.

“ _ I _ didn’t bring you here,” he says.  “I believe you brought  _ yourself _ here.”

“I don’t underst —”

Samot cuts him off with a lazy wave of his hand.  “Unconscious desires are funny things — they can take you places you didn’t even know you could go.  So tell me, paladin,” and he gives Hadrian a slow once-over that makes his cheeks heat, “what might you want from me?”

“I — I don’t… what are you writing?” he asks quickly.  Samot laughs, capping the deep indigo ink he’s been using and standing.  He’s wearing a long, form fitting dress in a dark green hue, high collar embellished in gold at the seams with a long slit up the side of his leg.  Hadrian can’t help but look — the god is, after all,  _ distractingly _ pretty.

“I thought it sensible to write some of my memoirs,” he says, stepping around the desk to perch on the edge of the bed next to Hadrian.  “There hasn’t been a new holy book in far too long, and besides,” and he grins, predator-sharp, “if I don’t record the more…  _ intimate _ aspects of our relationship, who will?”

“Intimate?” Hadrian echoes, despite himself.  He’s been imagining his lords together for as long as he knew of Samot, and those imaginings have only gotten more vivid and frequent now that he’s had both of them — always separate, though he’s imagined that too, being in the center.  Samot laughs.

“Surely you took note of the holy passages that skewed more risque,” he replies, running a hand lightly, absently up Hadrian’s thigh over the silk sheets.  “While some is assuredly fiction, other sections are  _ quite  _ accurate.”

“Will you tell me?”  The words are out of Hadrian’s mouth before he can think to stop them and Samot quirks an eyebrow, surprise and delight writ across his fine features.

“Well,” he says, “there’s so much to tell, I don’t know where to begin.”  Hadrian’s breath leaves him in a rush as he swings a leg up and over Hadrian’s thighs to settle on his hips — he’s naked under the dress, only thin sheets between their bare skin.  Hadrian’s hands instinctively go to Samot’s waist. “What would you like to know?”

Hadrian thinks for a moment, casting his eyes to the side, letting his hands slide absently over the silky fabric of the dress.  He wonders…

“Tell me about your first time?” he asks, finally.  Samot’s grin goes razor-sharp.

“Our first time…” he muses, leaning down to press light kisses along Hadrian’s collarbone, over the dark hair on his chest.  “You must understand, I was a different creature then. I hadn’t had a body for very long at all and all I wanted was to understand how they worked.

“We sated our hungers first,” he continues, tracing patterns at Hadrian’s hips with long nails.  Hadrian shivers, stays still as he can lest he interrupt the story. “I pushed him to the ground and I rode him as fast and rough as we both wanted.”  Samot’s fingers wander lower, skating over Hadrian’s hip to skate down the cleft of his ass, a momentary tease at his entrance that makes him tense and gasp.  “He barely prepared me at all before he took me,” Samot whispers, lips at the corner of Hadrian’s jaw, quirking into a satisfied smirk at the shiver he elicits.  “Neither of us could wait, and the pain… I just wanted to  _ feel _ him, every part of him, I wanted to  _ ache. _ ”

Hadrian arches, groans as Samot grinds his hips down, a slow slide against Hadrian’s growing arousal.  His hands clench on Samot’s waist — he’s gratified to see the god’s hips stutter in response even as he moves, sinuous and graceful.

“And once I had sated myself on his cock, I took him apart piece by piece.”  Samot leans in, lips close enough to kiss, a cascade of blond hair tickling Hadrian’s neck.  Hadrian’s frozen, caught like some prey animal in the mesmerizing gaze of a predator. Samot’s teeth gleam when he smiles.  “Would you like me to show you?”

Hadrian nods silently, almost afraid to speak.

In one smooth motion, Samot flips Hadrian onto his stomach — his strength catches Hadrian off-guard like it always does, hidden as it is in his lean form.  He can’t see Samot anymore but he can feel him, his weight at the small of Hadrian’s back. Slowly, slowly, the god grows — bigger, heavier, surrounding him.  Hadrian’s breath comes faster, his hands clench in the sheets on either side of his head.

“Of course, I have many, many bodies,” Samot purrs, and it’s a purr in the most literal sense — his voice has taken on a low, animal gravel, hungry and pleased.  “I’ve taken a liking to this one.”

His claws — his  _ claws _ — close around the back of Hadrian’s neck, pinning him down.  Hadrian’s mind goes blank in a heady mix of fear and arousal — in this shape, Samot’s hand wraps almost all the way around his throat.  There are lips at his shoulder, still human in shape but wider and Hadrian can feel the press of fangs against his skin. Samot is… he’s  _ terrifying _ but Hadrian can’t help but rut against the mattress.  Samot laughs.

“This is how I took him apart,” the god says in his rumbling tone, tearing the sheets away from them both in one vicious motion.  “I made sure there was not a single inch of him that I did not taste.”

Samot licks slowly down his spine, leaves stinging bites on his shoulder blades, claw marks in his hip and along his throat.  Hadrian squirms, moans for the potent mix of pleasure and pain. “No part of him was hidden from me,” Samot breathes, and Hadrian curses, sharp, as Samot uses his thumbs to spread Hadrian and lick hot at his entrance.  His legs jerk, fists clenching, eyes screwed shut. Samot’s tongue is rough like this, long and wide and quick. He fucks Hadrian, alternating with quick flicks against his rim.

Just when Hadrian thinks he’s about to come just from this, the door opens.

“Samot.”  It’s  _ his _ voice, there at the threshold of the room and he wants to address his lord but Samot has other ideas — he doubles the speed of his tongue, reaches around to fist Hadrian’s cock and he’s gasping and spilling instead, soiling the sheets and jerking in Samot’s grip.  Samot allows him to turn over, messy and still panting.

“Well, husband?”  Samot smiles, and as Hadrian watches, the wolfish aspects of him shrink and retract until he’s back to the god Hadrian knows.  “You sound displeased.”

“I wasn’t aware you’d be bringing another to our bed tonight,” Samothes says, arms folded across his broad chest.  “You must tell me of these things.”

“It’s not my fault!” Samot protests.  “He brought himself here, what was I to do?”

“You might have saved some for me,” Samothes shoots back — but now he’s grinning, fond and cheeky, at his husband.

“Oh, I doubt he’s spent,” Samot says, looking over Hadrian appraisingly.  The paladin’s been watching the two of them wide-eyed, afraid to say anything, but now Samot’s words and Samothes’ gaze send blood rushing to his face and prickling all over his skin.  He’s hyper-aware of his debauched state, the bruises forming all down his neck and shoulders.

Samothes smiles, moves to stretch out on the bed next to the two of them.

“You know, I was just telling dear Hadrian about our first time,” Samot says, smirk tilting his lips.  Samothes raises an eyebrow.

“And what, exactly, did you tell him?”

“All the sordid details, of course,” Samot continues, smoothing his hands over the broad curve of Samothes’ shoulders.  “But I’ve been thinking with quite a lot of fondness about how that encounter began.” Samothes’ smile is warm.

“Remind me?” he asks, and Samot grins, pushing his husband onto his back and climbing astride his hips.

“I think it went something like this…”  Samot bends to kiss him, long and slow and so intimate it almost hurts to watch.  Arousal courses through Hadrian’s veins — they’re  _ beautiful _ after all — but he also feels as if he shouldn’t be here, that he’s intruding on something too precious for someone like him to witness.  Samothes soothes his fear when he turns to Hadrian, runs a hand up his thigh.

“Get us the oil from the nightstand?” he asks.  Hadrian swallows and obliges. When he returns, they’re kissing again but it’s hungry now, a growing impatience in the noises they make and the pace with which they move.

“Hadrian,” gasps Samot, pulling back for a moment and taking the oil, “would you remind my husband of what happened our first time?”

Hadrian flounders for a moment, looking between the two of them.

“I’m not sure I —” he begins, but Samot cups his face, draws him in for a kiss, quick but deep.

“I’m sure you remember,” he murmurs, lips soft as they brush Hadrian’s own.  “Tell us, and when we’re done we’ll take good care of you.”

“You — you said that you pinned him to the ground,” Hadrian begins, mouth dry and slow but spurred on by Samot’s satisfied smile and Samothes’ blown pupils, the desire in his expression.  Samot captures Samothes’ wrists, pins them to the bed while he kisses him, a vision of clashing teeth and pale skin against brown and sweet sounds from divine throats.

“And then?” Samothes prompts, leaving a trail of searing kisses down the column of Samot’s throat.  Samot whimpers, hair cascading down between them as he tilts his head back to expose more skin.

“Then…”  Hadrian has to take a moment to swallow, to resist the urge to palm his rapidly hardening cock.  “Then you prepared him but — but not enough, so it hurt but in a good way, he wanted to…”

“Wanted to feel you,” Samot finishes, already with one slick finger inside himself — not a stretch at all but enough to spread the oil inside him.  “Good, Hadrian. Then what?”

“Then you rode him,” he manages, hoarse, rapt.

“ _ Yes _ ,” Samot hisses as he sinks down onto Samothes, a pained groan falling from his perfect lips.

They move together in sinuous, fluid motions — Samot bracing himself with palms flat on Samothes’ chest, Samothes’ hips bucking up as Samot bears down.  Samot cries out, high and sharp, with every thrust. The smell of sex and the slick sound of skin permeates the room, goes to Hadrian’s head like the best kind of intoxicant.

His hand strays to his arousal, entirely unconscious, but Samot somehow notices even through his pleasure.  His eyes snap open, gaze drawn to the motion.

“ _ Don’t _ ,” he snaps, not stopping the movement of his hips.  “Not until we say.” Chastened, Hadrian fists his hands in the sheets to keep himself from touching.

Samot brings his attention back to his husband, hips speeding, breath coming harder and faster.  He makes a strangled noise of frustration, digging his nails into Samothes’ chest.

“Please, love, it’s not  _ enough _ ,” he chokes out, flush high on his cheeks.  Samothes seems to understand immediately. He pulls out, getting his palms underneath Samot’s thighs and flipping them over.  Samot brings his knees up to his chest, holds them there with hands around his own thighs while Samothes takes him. The new angle must be good because Samot’s letting out a constant stream of noise, pleasured sounds on the edge of pain, while Samothes finally makes his pleasure known in low tones as he thrusts into Samot.

Hadrian feels like he’s about to burst, like he’s witnessing something forbidden, magical, divine.  The air in the room crackles with energy as Samot digs nails into his own skin and throws his head back and comes in long ropes over his stomach.  Samothes keeps moving, gripping Samot’s calves hard enough to bruise, until he, too, stills and spills into his husband with a low groan.

After what feels like an eternity, the gods look over at him, eyes half-lidded and banked with lazy heat.  Samothes smiles, pulling out of Samot and kissing him quickly before leaning back against the headboard and beckoning Hadrian into the circle of his arms.  Hadrian goes eagerly, whining into Samothes’ mouth when his lord kisses him gently.

“Like this,” Samothes says, guiding Hadrian to turn so his back is pressed against Samothes’ broad chest.  “We promised we’d take care of you, didn’t we?” He settles Hadrian against him, strong arms wrapped around his middle in both a gesture of comfort and an implicit restraint.  He kisses the corner of Hadrian’s jaw. “Samot?”

Samot takes the wordless direction easily, crawling gracefully between Hadrian’s spread legs and pressing his lips to one of the bruises blooming bright on Hadrian’s shoulder.

“Well, paladin?  Shall I take care of you?”

“ _ Please _ ,” Hadrian breathes – he’s painfully hard, only made worse by the immobilizing force of Samothes’ hold.

“Keep him still for me, husband?  You know how I like to be thorough.”

It’s not the first time Samot’s sucked Hadrian off but it is the first time with Samothes behind him, lips at his ear and thighs bracketing him.  He shouts when Samot takes him into his throat in one smooth motion, holds him there and swallows. Samothes chuckles, tightening his grip to keep him still.  Hadrian fists the sheets with one hand, clutches at Samothes’ arm with the other, searching for something to ground him.

Samothes kisses light over the bruises on his neck and shoulders, the ones that Samot’s fangs left just minutes ago.  They’re tender in the best way, stinging pain only serving to make the heady pleasure of Samot’s mouth more acute.

It’s not long at all before Hadrian’s coming a second time, spilling down Samot’s throat with a broken sound.  Samot works him through it, bobbing his head and sucking to draw out his orgasm, and Samothes holds him still as he tries to writhe, overwhelmed.

They press him between them as they lay in the sweat-soaked aftermath, messy and sated.  There’s no need for blankets, not with Samothes as warm as a banked fire. Samot sighs happily.

“You truly picked a good night to dream your way into our bed,” he says, stroking over Hadrian’s still-flushed face.  Samothes chuckles, the sound rumbling against Hadrian’s back — it makes Hadrian smile, too, makes him bold.

“Does that mean I should dream myself here more often?” he asks, and Samot laughs, bright as a pealing bell.

“I  _ think _ , paladin,” he says, tapping Hadrian’s bottom lip with his finger, “that you should go exactly where your dreams take you.”

Hadrian falls asleep between the two of them.  When he wakes up the next morning, he’s surprised to find that there are no marks on him at all though he can remember the sting.  He  _ does _ , however, find a small note on his pillow in that same violet ink Samot was writing with when Hadrian arrived.

_ When I’m done with the book, I’ll make sure you get a copy.  Sweet dreams, paladin. _

__ S. _ _

 

 


End file.
